


Time Will Tell

by Sasseraph



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasseraph/pseuds/Sasseraph
Summary: Sixty years is a long time to be locked away while the world develops around them, and they are none the wiser.
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Grief

They didn't even notice when the exit slammed shut. When the door was sealed up. When their freedom was stolen away. At that moment, as far as they were concerned, they were free to do as they pleased. In a sense, they were. No one had stopped them before; they weren't too worried about this new place to play. Sure, it wasn't too exciting—the inside of the tower was plain, and terribly dark, with only a single dingy light bulb hanging from the ceiling—but anything could be improved with a bit of arguably controlled chaos. Were they not already caught up in their petty sibling squabble, it would have been the first thing to break. Or perhaps the only, considering the tower's barren interior. 

By the time they realized the door had closed, they didn't really know what time it _was_. Their prison had no windows—but then, what water tower did? The Warners weren't stupid; they were technically child actors, and they knew the rumours. If companies were willing to lock young human actors away, there would be no question about three rambunctious toons. Well, maybe the small question of their sheer destructive ability. They weren't stupid, but they also weren't overly concerned. They would be let out soon. Everyone else had.

Yakko first knew something wasn't quite right when he woke up on the floor. Actually, that part was normal. To wake up having crashed somewhere questionable wasn't anything new. They had practically taken over the lot in their mere five years of existence, and they knew it. Wakko's personal favourite always seemed to be the studio commissary cabinets; it wasn't hard to guess why. The water tower floor wasn't strange in that normal way, but instead because when he sat up he noticed something he hadn't entirely expected: the door was still closed. He was beginning to appreciate that they hadn't smashed that light bulb after all. 

He sat there a while, just watching the door as though it might open at any moment. He didn't have anywhere to be. No light came from behind the door, but whether that was because it was dark out or the door was just that thick he couldn't recall. He pulled a pocket watch from his hammerspace and promptly frowned when the front opened. Of course it was unwound. In his defense, he hadn't exactly anticipated needing it, nor did he remember picking it up in the first place. He’d probably snatched it from some abercrombie and promptly forgotten about it. After a moment of contemplation, he begrudgingly found himself winding it anyway, pulling the watch's crown and setting it to a time he figured it might be. At the very least, he could count the hours from now, regardless of how wrong his guess might be.

Literally watching the seconds tick by wasn't the most exciting use of his time, but at least now he could tell exactly how much time he was wasting. Sure, it was probably way off, but it was better than nothing. He felt like he'd slept all night, but with the constant (however dim) light overhead, there really was no way of knowing. He didn't actually know how long actors tended to be put away for, but it had to be longer for toons. Never long enough that they were missed, though. Sighing and tucking the watch away, he stood, careful not to wake his siblings as he started toward the door. 

When he got close, he stopped short, tucked his hands into his pockets, and simply stared. They hadn't been locked up before, nor did they know anyone who had, though the former was likely because security rarely caught them in the first place. If he had to guess, he doubted it was usually for very long, if only because someone who was locked away wasn't someone who was making the company any money. He was pretty sure none of their Warner cartoons would ever see the light of day, and they didn't even have any left on contract to make. The only ones they'd done that had even released, to his knowledge, were the ones they'd filmed with Buddy. But now, they weren't making the studio money. So what would they still need them for?

He reached up to wrap his hand around the door's hand-wheel, and hesitated. He was just being hasty. He was overreacting. It had probably only been a few hours; this was normal. Sure, they didn't have an active cartoon contract anymore, but they were toons. Toons didn't leave the studio system. They would come to let them out soon. Still, his hand lingered on the door. He knew it would be locked, but part of him wanted to try to open it anyway; at least to find out what time it was. 

His grip tightened, and he turned to instead regard the sleeping pile of siblings he’d left behind on the floor. The noise might wake them, and then he’d have to explain himself. Worse, they would then have to find out with him whether it would even open. He doubted it would, but it couldn’t hurt to imagine...right? Slowly, he made himself let go and again stared at the metal door. It would open when they were wanted. He didn't allow himself to dwell on what that in particular might mean.

For the first time since they'd entered, Yakko gave the tower a brief look around. There wasn't much to see, but they'd been a tad distracted with their quarrel before falling asleep. He stepped away from the door, running a gloved hand along the metal wall and observing the dust that came off on his fingers. The tower was older than they were—he couldn't remember a time it wasn't standing—but it couldn't have been by much. It was dustier than he would have guessed; they must not have refilled it after moving it across the lot the year prior. 

He didn't need to keep walking to see that the rest of the tower was the same; it wasn't that big, after all. Rather than fret over their supposed wrong-doings, Yakko returned to the edge of the interior, lowering himself to the floor and curling back into a circle next to sleeping siblings. They had the right idea, sleeping through their "sentence". They would need the energy to sew more chaos later on. That was the flaw with the studio's little stunts like this; giving them a space to go wild until they crashed just let them charge up in peace for another bout. Realistically, it had only been a few hours, and would be only a few hours more. He'd show Plotz just how zany they could be on a full night's rest, come their release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle a bit with length and do not by any means have a huge amount of free time, but I wanted to try!


	2. Denial

Release didn't come. Yakko knew his watch was wrong, but he still felt a strange sense of dread about opening it. If he opened it, he still wouldn't know what time it was, but he _would_ know how long it had been since he last checked, which was always less time than he would have guessed. He wondered several times whether it was working correctly or if his internal clock was already that out of whack, but decided against fiddling with their only method of timekeeping. He felt the need to constantly check it, though he hesitated to tell his siblings he had it at all. Maybe if they didn't realize how much time was passing, they wouldn't worry. He didn't know the longest amount of time the studio had locked someone up for. They were probably setting a record with this, but that was to be expected. They were toons; they could handle it.

He didn't recall falling asleep, but he awoke to the tower adorned with scattered toys and other objects clearly originating from his brother's gag-bag. A half-finished Tinkertoy construction now sat in the centre of the tower, a small pile of marbles and pick-up sticks inviting disaster on the floor nearby. Wakko himself was lounged by the opposite wall, laying on his front and focused on what looked to be a colouring book. Clearly, he'd had a disagreement with the yo-yo that was tangled around him, but seemed to have already accepted his fate. Dot didn't look like she'd even tried to help, seated next to him with her legs crossed and her head in a magazine, a candle placed between them for additional light. As much as the constant light from the single ceiling bulb annoyed him, Yakko supposed it wasn't actually very practical. He stretched as he sat up, watching his siblings fondly for a time. He wondered how long ago they'd woken up. Fleetingly, he wondered if they'd tried the door.

He reached into his pants' pocket to grab the watch from his hammerspace. It couldn’t be helped. He flipped up the cover to see he'd slept an extra four hours. Maybe it hadn't been morning after all, and he'd woken up in the middle of the night. Or, maybe that stupid light was already messing with him. He supposed it didn't really matter. He would have been tempted to shatter the bulb were it not so important. But that was okay. They wouldn't be needing it for that much longer, anyway. Yakko figured he could live with it for a few more hours; a few more days, even, if that's how long it took until the studio got tired of this little stunt. He was about ready for the joke to end.

Shutting the pocket watch and tucking it back away, he made his way to his siblings' makeshift reading corner. Careful not to trip on the marbles that littered the floor, he gently slid the candle away from the wall, making room to sit between them on the floor. Neither acknowledged him, but Dot shifted to lean against his shoulder as she read. Either she was still tired, or he'd accidentally moved her reading light a little too far away. He pulled out a newspaper he must have grabbed from somewhere at one point, laying it on the floor to let the candlelight illuminate it, and curiously glanced toward his brother. “Lose a fight?”

Wakko startled slightly, subsequently drawing over the line and turning to him with a scowl. A little toon working on a colouring book and entangled in a yo-yo—how intimidating. Yakko couldn’t help but grin. “No,” Wakko huffed, pulling out a different colour crayon as though that could fix it. “It’s my new fashion statement, can’t you tell?”

“Oh, it’s a _statement_ all right,” Dot remarked without looking up from her magazine, earning them both another look from their brother.

“Looks great, Wak.” Yakko patted his head mockingly, deciding to leave him be in favour of unfolding his paper.

_Wednesday, June 20, 1934._ Staring at the date of his paper, Yakko quickly realized he didn't remember picking it up. He wondered if he'd bought it that same week. Was it even still June? He couldn't remember. A stolen look at Dot's magazine told him she was reading the June issue of some kind of series—not that he knew when she'd got hers, either. So, it was probably June. Or at least near June. He wasn't sure why it mattered so much; he could just get another paper once they were let out again.

He continued to stare at the date on the paper, though it had faded to the back of his mind. He wondered what they'd do when they got out. Or, more likely, what the studio would have them do. Plotz had cancelled their contract immediately after screening the last cartoon on it. Yakko wouldn't admit it, but he'd been disappointed. Wakko had gotten to direct, and they'd never had more fun on set. Sure, Memlo was a riot, but sometimes it was nice to not be screamed at during filming. The studio hadn't seemed to like _any_ of their work, but that was their problem. Even with Memlo yelling at them the entire time to “just follow the script” or “stop eating the props,” they still weren't happy with any of their cartoons. He supposed they were bound to get cut off eventually, though he wasn't sure exactly why. He knew the studio didn't like them. Everyone did—it wasn't a secret. Still, the only thing he could think that they must have done wrong was simply have fun. That was too much for Plotz, apparently.

He must have been spacing out a while before Dot spoke up. "You forget how to read?"

Yakko jumped slightly, tearing his eyes from the date on the paper to look at her. "Huh?"

"You've been on that page forever."

He stole a glance at his paper, then back at Dot. "Yeah." He had.

"Well, then don't look at me. I'm not going to re-teach you."

What? Oh. "I was just...thinking." He couldn't help but look past her at the door. Dot followed suit, and for a moment they just stared in silence.

Wakko broke it. "D'you think they forgot about us?"

Yakko didn't hesitate, and even scoffed, though it lacked his usual humour. "Not a chance, sib." No, they had been far too destructive for that. Come to think of it, that had probably been a contributing factor in their reputation with the studio. It figured. "They're just mad, that's all." There was no way they'd been forgotten. Therefore, they wouldn't keep them here forever. "Just give ol' Plotzy some time to cool down, huh?" He only needed to convince them, not himself. If he just kept yakking, they could all forget about it until it was over. Besides, he already knew they would be fine. They would come to get them soon. They would come to let them out soon. They would get to see the sun again soon.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I look something up only to find it was invented shortly after '34 I die a little inside.
> 
> This and the next one were done in advance, but I'ven't much free time recently. Not much of an artist, but could not help scribbling them while I was writing this one:  
> https://sasseraph.tumblr.com/post/644242755948822528
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments!


End file.
